retreating with an inнgratiating grin.
“That’s just a beginning,” explained Mr. Ufferlitz complaнcently. “We’ll get plenty more pictures later, of course. But there’s no harm grabbing anything that comes along.”
“Would you mind,” asked the Saint, “telling me just what this is all about?”
“Your build-up. Of course I know you’re a celebrity alнready, but a little extra publicity never hurt anyone. I’ve got the best press-agent in town working on you already. Want you to meet him this afternoon … We got you all fixed up for tonight, by the way.”
“You have?” Simon said respectfully.
“Yep. It was in Louella Parsons this morning. I shot it in last night, soon as I knew you’d arrived. Didn’t you see it?”
“I’m afraid I was too busy reading the subsidiary part of the paper. You know-the part where there’s a war going on.”
Mr. Ufferlitz thumbed through a bulging wallet and exнtracted a clipping. It had a sentence ringed in red pencil.
…Simon Templar (“The Saint”, of course) will be in town today, and the glamor girls have a new feud on. But his first date is April Quest, whom he will squire to Ciro’s tonight. They met in Yellowstone last summer …
“It’s wonderful,” said the Saint admiringly. “A whole new past opens behind me.”
“You’ll be crazy about her,” said Mr. Ufferlitz. “Face like a dream. Chassis like those girls in Esquire. And intelligent! She’s been all through college and she reads books.”
“Does she remember Yellowstone too?”
For the first time, a slight cloud passed over Mr. Ufferlitz’s open features.
“She’ll cooperate. She’s a real trouper. You gotta cooperнate too. Hell, I’m paying you six G a week, ain’t I?”
“Are you?” said the Saint interestedly. “I don’t remember that we fixed it definitely. It might help if you told me what you wanted me to do.”
“All I want you to do,” said Ufferlitz expansively, “is be yourself.”
“There’s a catch in it,” said the Saint. “I do that most of the time for free.”
“Well, there’s a difference…”
The revelation of the difference had to wait while they gave their lunch order. Then Mr. Ufferlitz put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“This is the greatest idea there’s ever been in pictures,” he stated modestly. “They’ve done plenty of movies about modнern heroes-Edison-Rockne-Sergeant York-all the rest of ‘em. But there’s always something phony about it to me. I can’t look at Spencer Tracy and think he’s Edison, because I know he’s Spencer Tracy. I can’t see Tyrone Power building the Panama Canal or the Pyramids or whatever it was. Now when the Duke of Windsor walked out of Buckingham Palace I had a great idea. Let him play himself in his own story. It was a natural. I wrote to Sam Goldwyn about it-I was in business in Chicago then-but he was too dumb to see it. Would ya believe that?”
“Amazing,” said the Saint.
“But this is even better,” said Mr. Ufferlitz, cheering up. “You’re plenty hot yourself, right now, and some ways you got more on the ball. Everything you’ve done was on your own. And you can still do it. Sergeant York couldn’t play himself because he’s an old man now, but you’re just right. And are you photogenious? Hell, the fans’ll go nuts about you!”
Simon Templar took a long mouthful of Cleopatra.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Do I get the idea that this earth-shaking idea of yours is a scheme to make a movie star out of me?”
“Make a star?” echoed Mr. Ufferlitz indignantly. “You are a star! All I want you to do is help me out with one picнture. We’ll make it a sort of composite of your life, ending up with that Pellman business in Palm Springs. I got a coupla writers working on it already-they’ll have a first draft for me tomorrow. You’ll play yourself in your own biography. I had the idea all worked out for a fiction character-Orlando Flane was
“That’s just a beginning,” explained Mr. Ufferlitz complaнcently. “We’ll get plenty more pictures later, of course. But there’s no harm grabbing anything that comes along.”
“Would you mind,” asked the Saint, “telling me just what this is all about?”
“Your build-up. Of course I know you’re a celebrity alнready, but a little extra publicity never hurt anyone. I’ve got the best press-agent in town working on you already. Want you to meet him this afternoon … We got you all fixed up for tonight, by the way.”
“You have?” Simon said respectfully.
“Yep. It was in Louella Parsons this morning. I shot it in last night, soon as I knew you’d arrived. Didn’t you see it?”
“I’m afraid I was too busy reading the subsidiary part of the paper. You know-the part where there’s a war going on.”
Mr. Ufferlitz thumbed through a bulging wallet and exнtracted a clipping. It had a sentence ringed in red pencil.
…Simon Templar (“The Saint”, of course) will be in town today, and the glamor girls have a new feud on. But his first date is April Quest, whom he will squire to Ciro’s tonight. They met in Yellowstone last summer …
“It’s wonderful,” said the Saint admiringly. “A whole new past opens behind me.”
“You’ll be crazy about her,” said Mr. Ufferlitz. “Face like a dream. Chassis like those girls in Esquire. And intelligent! She’s been all through college and she reads books.”
“Does she remember Yellowstone too?”
For the first time, a slight cloud passed over Mr. Ufferlitz’s open features.
“She’ll cooperate. She’s a real trouper. You gotta cooperнate too. Hell, I’m paying you six G a week, ain’t I?”
“Are you?” said the Saint interestedly. “I don’t remember that we fixed it definitely. It might help if you told me what you wanted me to do.”
“All I want you to do,” said Ufferlitz expansively, “is be yourself.”
“There’s a catch in it,” said the Saint. “I do that most of the time for free.”
“Well, there’s a difference…”
The revelation of the difference had to wait while they gave their lunch order. Then Mr. Ufferlitz put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“This is the greatest idea there’s ever been in pictures,” he stated modestly. “They’ve done plenty of movies about modнern heroes-Edison-Rockne-Sergeant York-all the rest of ‘em. But there’s always something phony about it to me. I can’t look at Spencer Tracy and think he’s Edison, because I know he’s Spencer Tracy. I can’t see Tyrone Power building the Panama Canal or the Pyramids or whatever it was. Now when the Duke of Windsor walked out of Buckingham Palace I had a great idea. Let him play himself in his own story. It was a natural. I wrote to Sam Goldwyn about it-I was in business in Chicago then-but he was too dumb to see it. Would ya believe that?”
“Amazing,” said the Saint.
“But this is even better,” said Mr. Ufferlitz, cheering up. “You’re plenty hot yourself, right now, and some ways you got more on the ball. Everything you’ve done was on your own. And you can still do it. Sergeant York couldn’t play himself because he’s an old man now, but you’re just right. And are you photogenious? Hell, the fans’ll go nuts about you!”
Simon Templar took a long mouthful of Cleopatra.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Do I get the idea that this earth-shaking idea of yours is a scheme to make a movie star out of me?”
“Make a star?” echoed Mr. Ufferlitz indignantly. “You are a star! All I want you to do is help me out with one picнture. We’ll make it a sort of composite of your life, ending up with that Pellman business in Palm Springs. I got a coupla writers working on it already-they’ll have a first draft for me tomorrow. You’ll play yourself in your own biography. I had the idea all worked out for a fiction character-Orlando Flane was
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